


Château d'Yquem

by quinoaquin



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Heavy Angst, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:44:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8671522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinoaquin/pseuds/quinoaquin
Summary: A bottle can't ruin your life, but it sure can make it worse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring Dr. Doom from the comics, not the movie. Check out The Invincible Iron Man vol 2, International Iron Man and The Infamous Iron Man.

230 years old. Drunk by Thomas Jefferson and George Washington. Château d'Yquem, however the fuck you pronounce that. $56,588. I know, right?

 _"Pepper, seriously, listen to me. It's not- it has_ sentimental _value, okay?"_

Auctioned at Christie's _,_  London, 1986. Two weeks after his parents died. 

Tony turned the bottle upside down, watching the air bubble travel through the liquid.

 _"It's_ why _I got it in the first place. I wasn't going to be like him."_

_"How'd that work out?"_

Tony couldn't remember what else he'd done wrong that day but it must've been something bad. 

_"20 years, it's still here."_

_"Maybe because it was buried under 20 years worth of other bottles, Tony."_

And yeah, okay.

He looked at his reflection in the bottle and his father looked back. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed. 

"Fuck."

He looked back at the bottle. Christ, he could smell it, he could smell it through the fucking glass. It smelled like comfort. Home.

He remembered the look Pepper gave him as she put the bottle back on the shelf. Like she could see the future. Like she knew that in ten years he would be sitting on the cold floor of his workshop, as alone and broken and pathetic as always, cradling that bottle like it was his only family. They'd known each other for too long, back then. Because first it's his charm that draws you near like a magnet. Then you get glimpses of the real him, and that's intriguing, isn't it, that whole broken-little-boy, fix-him-with-your-love type of thing that good people find so much fun. But then you realize that that's all there is underneath it all - just sharp edges of broken things and toxic fumes, and the closer you try to get the more it'll prick your skin and poison your lungs, and that charming facade isn't charming anymore, it's an old creaky wooden door that you know is going to fall off the hinges sooner rather than later and all those nasty, filthy things are going to come tumbling out. Pepper, smart girl that she is, evacuated the area before that happened. No hard feelings. Self-preservation and all. He just wishes she had taken this bottle along with the rest of them that day.

4 years. 4 years he's been sober. He fell through a wormhole. Lost his best friend. Lost his girlfriend. Nearly destroyed the planet. Crippled his other best friend. 

But there's nothing quite like the look of disappointment on Steve Rogers' face. There's just... nothing you could compare that feeling to. Nothing in the known universe that could make you feel more ashamed. And you have to fight the urge to drop to your knees and beg like a dog, to profess your unworthiness to a being so pure and good you can't even begin to understand. And as he looked at him, he could feel his knees giving out, and he could swear if he waited a tenth of a second longer he would've been on the ground. But the words stopped him, struck him so hard they kept him standing. Frozen for hours after Steve had already left.

 4 fucking years. And all it took was a sentence from the right person.

_"Howard was a better man than you'll ever be."_


	2. Chapter 2

_"He's a good man," she says. His thin fingers pull pieces of broken Christmas tree ornaments from the soles of her feet with eerie precision._

_"He was," she says. "Before..."_ _She looks at him in a way he doesn't understand._

_'Before_ you _,' she doesn't say._

_He focuses on the shards and thinks of clever ways to explain his red eye to his teachers._

He stares at Steve's untouched breakfast. The toast looks cold and soggy.

And Steve's face, as his eyes scan the photograph in his hand - sad, but in that glowing, nostalgic sort of way that is so open and honest and full of feeling it's contagious. Like it should be complicated but it's not because it's Steve, and with Steve there is no ego, there is no _I_. He's just a soldier, and fate is his commanding officer with infinite wisdom. ' _Stupid_ ,' Tony thinks, or tries to think, but is drawn to him again and again, to the tranquillity and the undeniable strength that radiates from him and it's so unhuman, so _above_ human, it's irresistible. Then Steve's thumb slides across the photo, and again, and again, and for a moment he looks lost, _a man out of time_ , and the sadness becomes more desperate, but he closes his eye and with a slow, gentle exhale it's gone. Had Tony ever been as sure about anything in his life as Steve Rogers is about everything? 

"Food's getting cold, Cap," Tony says nonchalantly as he moves to pour himself another cup of coffee. There's a sore pain in his lower back from leaning on the counter and he makes a show of stretching his arms and back. "Unless you stopped for a hot dog on Memory Lane."

In the corner of his eye he can see Steve's looking at him, but not smiling. 

_"Tony, hey, I, uh... I was wondering if you had any old photos of Howard."_

He turns away towards the sink and starts washing a plate, probably for the first time in ten years, and how long is he even supposed to scrub it for? Let's say until Steve leaves. He hears Steve sigh and scrubs harder. How? How could he look at _him_ like that? How could _Steve Rogers_ not see his father for who he really was? And no one did. No one did. The odds of Tony Stark knowing better than the entire world? Actually pretty decent. The odds of Tony Stark knowing better than Steve Rogers? 

"I forgot how he-" 

The plate falls back into the sink with a loud bang as Tony spins around. 

"Okay, hey, just- really, let's just _not_ talk about this."

There's soap dripping down his arms and onto the floor as he holds them up the way he would if he was wearing his suit and getting ready to blast Steve out of the building if his mouth even moved. And Steve just looks angry.

"I'm just- I'm not- I'm not going to feed this little fantasy of yours, okay, which I'm actually fine with, really, and all your friends are dead or dying, I get it, whatever keeps you keeping on, but I'm- I'm not- I can't-" and his eye stings from the soap somehow, and he rubs it with his hand and it makes it worse, "fuck," he squeezes his eyes shut but it burns anyway, and he grabs the counter for support as he half kneels and fights the urge to rub at his eyes. _Fuck, it burns_. Fuck this. And fuck him. " _Fuck him._ Okay? _Fuck. Him._ I'm _glad_ he's fucking dead," he says into the stinging pain and into the darkness behind his eyelids and to no one in particular, and it feels liberating. "Fuck h-"

And then the pain moves to his chest and his back as his body crashes with the wall hard, too hard for his age, but at least his eyes don't burn anymore as they fly open to see Steve's face inches from his. 

And Steve's looking at him in a way he doesn't understand.

But he knows it's the exact opposite way of how he looked at that photo, and the fingers are pressed around his throat in the exact opposite way of how they caressed it. 

_Jarvis' fingers make gentle circles on his back. It stings just a little as they slide over the bruise, but it feels so nice, so nice it's almost worth it just for this, and Tony knows this is what love feels like._

_"Anthony, your father, he-" and he looks so sad. 'Because of me' Tony thinks, but doesn't say._

_"He's a good man," says young Tony._

_"No, he's not," says Jarvis, firmly, and he looks unsure for a moment, then fixes Tony's pillow carefully and kisses his forehead._

_'He was,' thinks Tony, but doesn't say. 'Before_ me _.'_


	3. Chapter 3

He ends up in the hospital - yeah, embarrassing, he knows. According to Natasha, Steve had found him in Tony's workshop (passed out in a puddle of puke, of course) after coming back looking for Tony. _"To apologize,"_ Natasha says, expression neutral as her eyes flicker to Tony's neck. Tony hires security and doesn't take any more hospital visits.

 _"Really, JARVIS? The Alcohol Poisoning protocol was one of the_ first _things I taught you,"_ Tony says when he returns to the tower. JARVIS reminds him Tony had disabled that particular protocol right before trying to drink himself to death 4 years ago. _"Oh,"_ says Tony. _"Right."_

JARVIS tells him when people come to the tower - Tony ignores them, stays in his workshop, works on his suits, rests when JARVIS insists, eats what JARVIS gets him. He can go into a trance when he's entirely focused on his work like this. Like, really, an actual trance. Before JARVIS that meant he'd also go without food and sleep for long periods of time and the only thing that made him stop was badly fucking up whatever he was working on at the time. Tony is reckless but he would never risk making something for others that might malfunction. He fucks up everything but he doesn't fuck up his work. Well, his suits, maybe, but not the tech he makes for the team. It's the only thing he has to give, the only thing about him worth a damn, the only reason people respect him and the only reason his friends put up with him. Well, he says _friends_... But as long as he has his work, as long as he can be useful, he gets to call them that. Oops, did he ignore direct orders, put a mission in jeopardy and endanger everyone's lives? Cool new gun for you, Natasha. One-size-fits-all pants for Bruce. Updated your shield, Cap, you can fly now. Computer guided arrows, Clint? Hey, what's a few million dollars and getting less than a couple of hours of sleep every other day for a month? No problem. He's Tony Stark. It's why he's on the team. A team of _superheroes_. 

Him, Tony Stark, a super hero. Even after all these years, the thought still makes him uncomfortable. Still threatens to make him think of things other than his work. Even now, that thought is enough to make him become aware of his surroundings for a split second as he's kneeling on the floor of his workshop, completely surrounded by holographic projections of various weapons and chemical structures, of Cap's shield and Cap's DNA, and endless lines of code. He snaps out of it long enough to notice the smell of coffee in the air, and he reaches out automatically with his right hand without looking up, mumbles _"thanks, Dummy"_ and wraps his fingers around the warm cup that's being pushed into his hand.

"No need for insults," a voice says.

Tony whips around fast. His right arm is fully armoured before the cup even hits the ground, the repulsor loaded and ready to shoot. In the dark of the room, Doom looks as villainous as ever with the sharp edges of his face illuminated only by the glowing holograms and the artificial light of the suit's repulsor.

"Hello, Anthony," he says in that simultaneously calm and dramatic, uniquely Victor von Doom way. Dummy's already noisily picking up the shards and moping up the coffee between Doom's feet and a kneeling Tony. He stares at the tall man, his arm still extended and unmoving, aiming at Doom's face until Tony realizes he absolutely does not have - even with the robotic power of the glove - the physical strength to keep his arm up and lets it fall limp. 

"Coffee?" Victor asks, holding out a new cup. "No magic, I made two cups," he adds when Tony frowns. Tony _hates_ magic. He takes the cup, then takes Victor's offered hand and stands up, wobbly, blood rushing through his legs again. 

"I see you still haven't put up the magical ward I gave you," Victor says, holding Tony's hand firmly until Tony's present enough to feel _incredibly_ uncomfortable with that.

"Did you really think I would use _magic_ on this place, let alone magic given to me by _Dr. Doom_?" he says as he yanks his hand away. "This is not okay, Doom. Not okay. You hear me?" he says, holding up a finger like he's scolding a dog. A large, scary, unpredictable dog with a terrifying history of violence.

" _You_ 're not okay, Anthony," Doom says and Tony rolls his eyes. _When_ did this happen? When did he become _friends_ with a super villain? He takes a long, obnoxiously loud sip of the hot coffee and tries to glare at him, but chokes on the coffee and he breaks eye-contact, lowering his head. Victor is looking at him _like that_ , like... Christ, like he's _disappointed in him_. The fight drains out of him as he thinks what a piece of shit he must be if he feels shame even before Dr. Doom? Always, he's always ashamed, there's always a reason for him to feel shame and he can't remember a single moment of his life when he didn't feel it. 

"I worry about you."

Tony throws his head back and groans loudly. "You do realize JARVIS has already alerted the Avengers and they're probably on their way? If you have to pee, do it now." He finishes the coffee in one go, hands the cup to Dummy and disappears the holograms with a wave of his hand. 

"I've informed your A.I. that I am only here on a friendly visit," Victor says.

"Oh! Oh, no! You got me! I accidentally programmed JARVIS to alert the Avengers of your presence _unless you politely ask him not to_."

Doom smiles in a way Tony knows Doom thinks is a friendly manner, but is in fact a _creepy_ manner. "I told you to use the ward," Victor says with a shrug.

Tony whips around, points a finger at him. "Did you mess with him?" 

Victor raises his eyebrows, tilts his head, expression calm and innocent. 

" _Did you mess with JARVIS, Doom?_ " Tony all but yells, his armoured hand raised again, inches from Doom's face.

Tony is fuming. Doom's complete lack of fear in the face of him - hell, in the face of _Iron Man_ \- only adds to that anger. This smug, self-righteous, mass-murdering, power-hungry megalomaniac is one of the _very_ few people alive that are capable of getting through JARVIS' defences. That thought used to keep him up at night - _he couldn't protect JARVIS_. He made him, he brought him into existence, and he couldn't keep him safe.

"I only intercepted the alert. I did not alter it-" he falters, corrects himself " _him_ \- in any way." 

Yeah, Tony is 100% not convinced. He's seen Doom lie many times before, always looking as honest and earnest as he looks now. "What the fuck are you here for?" 

"I will tell you when you lower your weapon. I don't wish for you to get hurt."

Tony is tempted to blast him to fucking Mars. God, he _hates_ this guy. He lowers his arm anyway. Whatever.

"I came to-" Victor looks uncertain for a moment. He points at Tony's neck, uncharacteristically awkward, "- to heal you."

Tony's hand goes to his neck instinctively, pulling up his shirt in an attempt to cover up the bruise that's still visible days after Cap... well, after he put it there. "No, thanks. Go away now," Tony says curtly, turning around, bringing back the holograms and code filled with information that probably should not be seen by super villains, but it's better than Victor staring at a bruise Captain America put on him. _Don't think about it,_ Tony tells himself, _do_ not _think about it_. 

But he can't not. Every time Tony looks at the bruise or feels it, he's reminded of one very simple fact, a fact of which he was very, very certain of - Steve Rogers has _never_ put a bruise on anyone who wasn't _bad_.

"I know it's the reason you're in here," Victor says, tone careful.

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but I'm _working_ \- that's why I'm here. I'm serious, Victor. Leave."

He can feel Victor's eyes on him. He pretends to look at the code while focusing on keeping his breathing steady.

He hears a quiet "sorry", then a dark violet fog envelops him before it disperses and disappears, along with Victor von Doom and Tony's bruise.

_  
"Oh, you should have seen him, boy. The scrawny, weak kid he was. Scrawnier than you, even."_

_His father's eyes were focused on something in the distance, something Tony couldn't see, as he watched his father smile. A rare occasion, reserved for times when he'd only had two or three drinks, and was in a mood for reminiscing._

_"But there was something about him. He was..." his father's voice trailed off and he poured himself another drink. "He was really something, you know. Really something," he said, nodding to himself and downing the drink._


End file.
